The Stranger's Kiss
by Irinazure
Summary: Sandor Clegane is dying. Bleeding, abandoned and feverish, all he wishes for is the Stranger's mercy. [SandorXSansa]


**Hi there, here's what I thought might have gone through the Hound's head after Arya left in what he probably thought were his last moments. Sadly, I'm not George RR Martin and so none of the characters mentioned belong to me. I merely took the freedom to add some of my own feels and thoughts. Enjoy and let me know what you think.**

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What the seven hells had he gotten himself into? Alone, bleeding like a slaughtered pig and shivering with fever. Not that his life had been anything worth but was that really the way it would end? Deserted by the little bitch, whimpering and groaning like some lackwit? He laughed at himself for thinking that death might have come any easier for him but the sound that escaped his lips was so wretchedly close to a sob that he bit down on his tongue to quench down anything worse. His own body betrayed him, the last betrayal he would ever know in this life. Gregor had been the first, his father the second.

_Bloody hell_, Sandor thought, _scared shitless now, are we?_ Although his body was burning, it was the coldness creeping closer with every breath that unsettled him more. Who knew how long it would take? An hour? Perhaps even a day? He should get it over with really, close his eyes and let go. But the spineless little fucker that he was couldn't do it. Coward! He hung to the pain in his leg like a drowning sailor to the plank of a shipwreck. Life had been bad, would death be even worse?

This was the Stark bitch's fault. She could have given him the gift of mercy for all that it was worth and scratch his name off that list of hers. They'd both be happier for it. Sandor Clegane had never begged for anything. The only way to make sure something was done right was to do it yourself. But his sword and knife were out of his reach, strapped onto Stranger's back. And even if he did have a blade in his grip...

He had begged her for death, had tried to inflame her hatred by throwing the butcher's boy at her. Not even a slight twitch of muscle to betray whether she'd actually heard him. So when that had failed to work he'd grasped for the next best thing he could think of in his with pain shrouded mind – her sister.

He'd meant it. _I should have taken her. Kissed her, fucked her and I wouldn't be so miserable now._ He should have kissed her before fleeing from King's Landing. He should have acted like the beast they all took him for and enjoyed whatever she might have offered him had he only been bold enough to take it. Of course he was only fooling himself with that train of thought. She would never have offered him the things he craved from her.

Every thought of her brought with it a new wave of pain and yet once started Sandor couldn't go back. He had tried to stop thinking about her after he'd left King's Landing and until now he'd managed quite well. But now his head was just as weak as his body and her image came floating before his eyes, so close he'd considered reaching out with his hand for her. He couldn't bring his damn hand to move.

_Still out of my reach, little bird. Don't ever let me catch you._

His head swam to the soft tune of her voice, back to the evening he'd told her the story behind his scars. She had tried to be gracious before he'd all but drunkenly snapped at her to shove her courtesies up her arse. Her pretty words lost their value when all he could see in her eyes had been fear and pity. He hadn't minded the fear back then but pity was the last thing he would accept from any man, woman or child. Anyone else would have met his sword that day.

He still regretted telling her the truth. It hadn't done either of them any good in the months to come when Trant and Blount turned every part of her body covered by a gown blue with their fists. No one in that hell hole had a better right to lose control and snap at her captors but the only thing he'd continued to encounter whenever their eyes met was more fear and sodden pity. For him of all people! Gradually the former had added to turning his mood sour, one some days even more than the latter. He'd tried to help the child, for gods' sake! Some gratitude would have been fine.

But his mind betrayed him again, reminding him that she had tried to thank him. _He_ had pushed her away, time and time again. Why? Why had he done it? _I didn't deserve her fucking gratitude. I let them strike her, let them kick her, shame her. A dog standing by his master, no better than the lot of them. _

Coward.

He hadn't allowed himself to think of her as a woman until after her flowering. Whatever initially caused him to seek her presence and look after her without risking his own head soon made her appear in his dreams, naked and singing with want as his body pressed against hers. Not rare were the nights when his hand would close around his cock as he sought his release in the vision of her climaxing under him. During the hours of day he'd often caught himself staring at the play of sunlight in her hair or the soft cream of her skin. All under the ignorant nose of King Joff. Even the rats of Flea Bottom were too good for that little tosser but nothing changed the fact that she was Joffrey's. She was a Stark of Winterfell. No bloody coat could hide his family's humble background. Out of his reach. She wasn't his. She would never be his.

He'd chosen to forget that fact on the eve of the Battle of Blackwater, when wine had driven him to her rooms. Gods! He must have gone mad to hope she might come with him if he held a dagger to her throat. Again that flicker of fear in her clear blue eyes as he grazed her skin. All this for a song and the wrong one too. She'd asked for mercy with her hymn to the Mother, even drunk he'd been able to see that. He'd realised then that she was still a child after all, scared to death by the king's ugly dog. He was no better than Ser Meryn Bloody Trant.

He tried to move and only bit down on his cheeks in agony. The ground was hard and a root poked him in the back but shifting his weight was impossible without sending black flashes before his vision. Damn it! At least the pigs that had brought him to this were dead but that was only a slight comfort, knowing that they'd been his brother's men. Gregor himself was either dying or already dust. Why? Seven bloody hells, why? Killing Gregor had kept him going since he could remember, the certainty that one day his brother's blood would stick to his hands and boots. The only thing he had ever asked the gods to grant him and even that didn't work out in his favour. The more he thought about it the more he became convinced that there was no reason for him to hold onto his miserable existence.

He shouldn't be so fucking afraid. Of the Seven the Stranger was the only one he'd ever felt comfortable with. The Warrior never listened to his worshipers' prayers or men wouldn't fall in battle. The rest were for children and fools. All lies and hot wind. Only the Stranger never lied. Only death was certain.

_She looked like the Maiden. All auburn hair and Tully blue eyes._ She was standing before him, smiling down as if she'd been there all along.

"Little Bird."

His voice was no more than a dry rasp. From somewhere he could hear a horse but it didn't sound like Stranger. Might be some hedge knight or outlaw found him and give him what he wanted. She bent down next to him, soft fingers landing on his cheek, the scarred one. There was no fear in her eyes now. How he yearned to take her hand into his but his arm refused to move. He was so cold yet he couldn't concentrate on anything but her.

_She isn't real, you stupid dog._

A man's voice joined the horse's neighing but Sandor couldn't even turn his head to look. His eyes were glued onto her, fingers itching to touch that perfect white skin. He was so cold.

She lowered her head and her lips pressed against his ever so softly, warm and soft against chapped and caked with blood. His eyes fell shut and he told himself that now he was finally ready to let go.

His little bird was giving him his mercy.

The Stranger's kiss.

And then the world turned black.


End file.
